


Mine

by ozomin



Series: Yours & Mine [2]
Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Prompt Fill, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozomin/pseuds/ozomin
Summary: Avilio sleeps in a flood of scent and resentment.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [91dayskinkmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/91dayskinkmeme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Avilio has a thing for Nero's scent and starts to bring his clothes with him when they're apart. The time he's with Corteo in his old appartament it's not an exception. One particular night, Avilio can't bring himself anymore and after a very peculiar dream he release himself using Nero's clothes. Of course he must be silent and sneaky, since Corteo is sleeping peacefully right next to him.  
> Bonus: He fails.

Nero's jacket is two sizes bigger than anything Avilio would sensibly wear, but it's warm, easy enough to get away with wearing in the cold Illinois weather.

Avilio would have to say the best part of taking that jacket for his own, is the scent of it.

It smells like Nero.

Sure more often than not Nero smells like gun powder and stale alcohol, strong coffee that Avilio cannot honestly stand and pineapple juice when it spills. Nero's skin is deep peppermint from the barbershop and black wood currant soaps.

It makes Avilio's chest tighten while his lungs urge to be filled with it over and over again.

Sometimes Nero's scent is all he has when he's traveling, negotiating deals on the behalf of the Vanetti family. In many ways, Nero himself is all Avilio has left, but if he can spare those left in the rubble he'll do it.

Corteo sleeps soundly in the bed closest to the wall, his breathing is even, lulls the whole room into a easy silence, a quiet comfort the way a rocking chair would.

Avilio doesn't like to admit it but the smell of Nero puts him at ease more than any of those things ever could.

It's also easy to blame the cool nights for enabling Avilio to bring the coat into bed with him.

Avilio nestles his face up against the worn fabric and breathes in deeply.

It only takes about a minute of deep breathing for Avilio to fall asleep dreaming of stubbed out cigarettes and eyes that hold the clarity of gemstones.

Behind his eyelids, Nero is swimming in darkness before he comes into focus splayed across plush sheets, his skin glistening in warm sweat. Nero's saying something but Avilio doesn't know what.

Next thing he knows he's beneath Nero and the scent of rum is strong and full. Something jolts in his chest at Nero being so close, his scent flooding Avilio's nostrils like a tugboat submerged beneath an ocean current.

Nero's still murmuring, despite being right up against Avilio's ear, he can't understand a word of it.

The sheer heat of Nero's body on top of his is making Avilio lightheaded. Nero's tugging gently at Avilio's ear lobe with his teeth. Avilio finds himself getting lost in Nero's limbs, in his skin, in his scent.

Avilio lurches awake, eyes wide, his shirt soaked in cold sweat. His face is nestled into the warm bulk of Nero's jacket. It's after inhaling deeply does Avilio immediately notice he's hard in his pants. The stiff line of his cock is pressed between his thigh and the bedspread.

Avilio tightens his fists. Nero's a bastard and he'll be damned if he succumbs to some irrelevant dream.

Nero doesn't deserve his pleasure, Nero doesn't deserve the satisfaction of seeing Avilio fighting a temptation he never thought he'd have to fight.

Avilio squeezes his eyes shut. Relaxes his hands only to grab a handful of the jacket in each palm. Frustration throbs behind Avilio's closed eyes as nausea bubbles up in his stomach.

He exhales raggedly, no sooner wishing Nero's musk was inside just as fast. He's frankly disappointed in himself for reaching this point at all. He's also rather caught off guard by how good it feels to gently shift his hips back and forth, his cock sliding up and down the sheet, the sweet friction has Avilio completely forgetting about any resentment he may feel in place of sheer pleasure.

Avilio buries his face into the fabric uses it to both muffle his high note whimpers and flood his senses with Nero's musk. His hand slips down his body and into his pants. The moment he grabs his own cock, he feels electric burst behind his eyelids and travel haphazardly down his spine.

Even then, half the act is stifled by the presence of Corteo on the other side of the room. He's afraid to speed up the motion of his hand lest he get too loud and completely stopping sounds like a torturous idea at this point.

Avilio risks tightening his grasp and thrusts his hips forward, his mouth opens completely slack before a shuddered moan barrels out into the bunch of fabric he's clinging to with his free hand, his face buried in it in a futile attempt at hiding what his body is doing.

He's finding an uncharacteristic solace in Nero's clothing, a peace that betrays the way his heart is thudding against his ribcage, the way his cock drips precome messy and sticky across his fingers and the front of his pants.

With an almost painful stutter in his chest, Avilio freezes at the slightest hint of Corteo stirring behind him. He stills his hand, his throbbing cock twitching in protest and tries to calm the shaky breaths.

Each passing moment is special kind of hell in which Avilio simultaneously wishes he was both dead and noticeably aroused. Maybe Corteo would be more convinced to leave the mafia behind if he saw how far gone Avilio really was.

Perhaps a minute or two later the shuffling of Corteo's blanket stops and once again his breathing resumes a rhythmic pace.

It's in the same breath that Corteo sleeps that Avilio inhales more of Nero and begins to fuck his fingers once more. He's quickly rising to a plane of no abandon, if it means he'll come and find relief as quickly as possible that's the preferred option.

Avilio shifts his body just that little bit, enough to grind his hips into the mattress, between gasping breaths and Nero's scent embedding itself into the bud of his cheek, the length of his warmed through throat, Avilio's in bliss.

He can feel the muscles in his ass clench, his hips stuttering out of rhythm, his thighs trembling, he's so close.

The cool air that permeates the room, bites at the sweat on Avilio's skin like crisp wind on water's surface.

Avilio chances shifting the blanket off and away, to dissipate the heat that lies thick above his skin and below his body.

He shifts onto his back, Nero's jacket bundled up beneath his head, each breath reminding Avilio why he's even doing what he's doing.

With a tight sigh, Avilio lets go of his cock, he can't hide the expression of dissatisfaction in his face at the loss of friction. He pulls down the waistband of his pants, pushes until it's bunched halfway around his thighs and he can feel more than see his cock twitching in the cold dim of the early morning hour.

Avilio shuts his eyes before pulling Nero's jacket from beneath his head and lying it on top of his face like a half hearted blindfold.

He takes one deep breath.

His cock twitches, precome beads at the slit.

He takes another.

The precome dribbles down the head, slow and viscous like honey.

Avilio breathes in Nero scent like he's a drowning man, his chest heaving expanding like it would for nothing else. He can feel currant leaves brushing against his skin like feather light touches. The depth of stale smoke traces the fibers of his lungs like drugs rushing through his veins.

He's digging his fingers into the fabric, smothering himself with the clothing. Nero's in his lungs, swimming through his blood like opioids.

Come spurts onto his belly from his untouched cock. Pearly semen glossy on his crumpled shirt and sweaty skin. A stray splatter hitting the sleeve of the jacket that extends over his chest.

Avilio buries the resounding moan, Nero's name, as best he can into the bulk of Nero's jacket. He swallows, heart still striking painfully in his throat and up against his sternum.

He lies there, until his heart slows back to a crawl, until the sweat has dried and the come has caked on his clothes and skin so long he may have drifted off but he's not completely sure. He just as equally lost in the bundle of Nero's jacket as he's always been.

"You must care about him." Corteo's voice is quiet, sad even.

It breaks the silence like a brick to a window pane.

**Author's Note:**

> hello i hope you enjoy this one too : )


End file.
